It's about pie. So it's a Thanksgiving post, right?

Happy Thanksgiving! I was going to write about what I'm thankful for but if you've read my blog for just a teensy bit, you hopefully understand how much I love (and am thankful for) my family and friends.

So I'm going to share my worst experience with pie making. (Not that I have a great track record with cake baking...)

During college, I lived with eight wonderful girls on Linden Street. We were dubbed "the Linden Ladies." They're a dear group of friends whom I love because of who they are and how they contributed to my shaping.

Thanks to my Linden Ladies, I was:

• introduced to Harry Potter
• introduced to Lia's fruit pizza (which, really, deserves its own national holiday)
• treated to hilarious musical readings of unintended funny e-mails
• was shown undeserved love during rough times
• shown firsthand just how much peanut butter and Damien Rice one person could consume

Clearly, these are life-changing experiences. These alone are substantial reasons to go to college.

Anyways, for one semester only, we all had Friday afternoons open so Pie Day Friday was instituted. We each took turns baking a pie and eating it together. It was a fantastic tradition.

When my first turn came, I was excited to try a sugar creme pie from scratch.

It was while grocery shopping that I realized it's a pricey pie to make. I remember passing a Wick's frozen sugar creme pie for one-fourth of the price I was paying for all the ingredients but I wasn't even tempted. I was going to make it from cream, eggs and sugar and, gosh darn it, it was going to be good.

So I got home and began baking. Or "baking." I carefully followed the recipe and put it in the oven where it was supposed to thicken and set after an hour.

But when I pulled it out, it still had the consistency of thin milk. So I baked it longer. A couple of hours longer. Three (or four... or five...) hours later, it never set but the crust was burnt.

So I put it in the fridge, hoping the recipe-maker forgot to mention that it should thicken as it chills.

(Sidenote - this was just one of the many times I thought the recipe-maker got it wrong. I also have thought this a lot about crossword editors. Will Shortz, I'm talking to you!)

Another couple of hours later, I was running out of options and slightly panicking about my $24 pie. So I put it in the freezer while everyone patiently waited for Pie Day Friday Evening to begin.

By Saturday afternoon, it was still pure liquid sitting in a frozen yet burned yet soggy crust.

Somehow, during the course of my "baking," I had created a pie enigma. How did I make something that couldn't be baked, chilled or frozen?

Of course, the answer is I'm just that good.

We laughed pretty hard about my pie and the lack of Pie Day Friday but inside, I was dying a little bit. I was really looking forward to some sugar cream pie.

So I drove back to Wal-Mart, bought the $4 Wick's pie and, over a slice of delicious pre-made sugar cream pie, I was then truly able to laugh at myself.

Needless to say, 1) these are some really great friends for whom I'm thankful and 2) I haven't attempted sugar cream pie since that fateful Pie Day Friday.

Linden Ladies + 2 + 1 on the way, Reunion November 2008

The fruit pizza faithfully attends all of our reunion parties. I wanted a picture to show all of you but I was too busy eating it.I finally grabbed my camera as the last piece was taken. Apparently, it's so good that one can't resist waiting two seconds for her friend to take a picture before taking a bite.

Another edition of very random thoughts

1. I'll never cease to be amazed at the growing number of movies that are becoming increasingly dated as I get older. The Fugitive just joined the list. Car, eyeglasses and men's suits are always the first casualties. And women's bangs.
   
2. There's a good reason Web design is a skilled field. I spent hours last night, trying to update my blog. I ended up erasing everything and reinstating my old template.
3. Except now, I can't move the squiggle mark in my quote on the right.
   
4. Beginning tomorrow, we're eating nearly every meal with family until Monday and I love not cooking dinner.
   
5. Over the next few days, I am making a ginormous pan of corn pudding, a bucket of cranberries, monkey bread, English sticky toffee pudding and cranberry orange cornmeal cake.
6. FYI - our Wal-Mart is already out of frozen yeast rolls. I'll have to attempt monkey bread made from scratch.
   
7. Hello, sugar coma. We're going to meet in T-minus 23 hours.
8. Also, hi melted sticks of butter. We'll be rendezvousing soon as well and you'll be introduced to my thighs shortly after that. Go easy on them, please. Christmas sugar cookies and Aunt Sheila's fudge are just around the corner.
   
9. My siblings are arriving tonight from Texas and Colorado. I'm beyond excited.
   

In honor of my 100th post

This is my 100th post. I had grand plans for a "100 things I've Learned Since Becoming a Mom" post, but much like the other "100" post, it's a disaster draft so far. But you might see it in pieces over the next week.

Anyways, thanks to Demotivators (which has been cracking me up), I thought this was a pretty fitting tribute as my 100th post:

My other favorites include government, giving up, incompetence and meetings. Heck, really, it's all of them. Enjoy.

P.S. Is it Thursday yet???

Why we wore shoes in the house all weekend

You might think this is going to be a Thanksgiving recipe post since it includes sweet potatoes and my most-used kitchen item, an 8" x 8" glass PYREX baking dish.

You would be wrong.

Here are two things you need to know before I share the story.

1. I frequently turn on the wrong burner while cooking or heating up my tea kettle. Apparently, I am not alone.
2. This is the real verbiage from the PYREX Safety and Usage Instructions Web page:

WARNINGS

FAILURE TO FOLLOW THE WARNINGS BELOW MAY RESULT IN PERSONAL INJURY OR PROPERTY DAMAGE, OR MAY CAUSE YOUR GLASSWARE TO BREAK OR SHATTER IMMEDIATELY OR LATER.

DO NOT Use On or Under a Flame or Other Direct Heat Source, including on a stovetop, under a broiler, on a grill or in a toaster oven.

OK, now we can proceed. And you probably know where this is headed.

This is what my baking dish looked like before Joe decided to have a cup of hot chocolate:
This is what 1/4th of the dish looked like after he turned on the front burner instead of the back one:

Joe was standing by the stove when it happened and I heard it from our living room. Since I have an overactive imagination and fear for my family's safety about 99 percent of the time, I was sure someone shot him through the kitchen window and had my finger pressed on my phone's "9" button as I ran to the kitchen. (Any guesses what I was dialing??)

I really can't describe to you the boom of the explosion, Joe's stunned expression, the glass shards melting into the linoleum floor, the walls literally punctured with glass, the glass slivers and chunks EVERYWHERE, my relief when I realized Joe was fine and my gratefulness that Madeline was in her crib.

If you look real close, you can see glass punctured in the sweet potatoes that were sitting in the dish before the explosion:

Joe swears his ninja-sharp reflexes kicked in during the explosion and this was his reenactment:


And yes, when glass explodes with the force of the atomic bomb, it will wake up your sleeping daughter. She was thrilled to be up. We weren't quite as happy with it.

Once the shock wore off, Joe started cleaning, I snapped pictures and afterwards we enjoyed our hot chocolate. By heating the water in the microwave.

A love memento to beans

I am a fan of beans. Black, white, red and green. I love 'em all. However, when we were first married, Joe mention in passing that he did not like beans.

Because I was in the honeymoon phase of our young love, I batted my eyes and made a mental note, "OK, dearest. I wouldn't ever ever try to change you because I love you just the way you are." And I didn't make dinners with beans.

But then I realized Joe wouldn't measure my love with a bean counter. So I started making dinners with beans. And you know what? He likes them.

However, we still have our moments. Like last night when we were making dinner together.

Joe: "What's that smell?"
Katie: "What? I don't smell anything."
Joe: "Something stinks. Really really stinks." (This is a loose adaptation of the real conversation; he used some strong words.)
Katie: "I don't smell anything."
Joe sniffs the can of beans I just opened.
Joe: "That's it. Those beans smell nasty."

But because he has an open mind/open heart policy when it comes to my cooking (which, honestly, should be a required policy to eat my dinners), he ate the chili. And loved it. (see below: best. recipe. ever.)

So if you're skittish around beans, give beans a chance. You just might like them and make a closet bean fan in your life very happy.

My top three favorite bean recipes

White chicken chili - Seriously, hands down, best recipe I've tried in a long time. I made it with orange carrots instead of yellow, added cayenne and served it over rice to make it go further. Love, love, love this recipe. (FYI - only go to Kirsten's blog if you want to leave extremely hungry. She makes everything look so good.)

Black bean and chicken quesadilla - This is my staple "last-minute guests" recipe because a) we always have these items on hand, and b) everyone likes it. I've prepared it about a million times and still love it. (I may or may not have made this three times in the last two weeks for lunch with friends...)

Black bean and cheese pie - Now, I really like this one but I'll be the first to admit: it's a true bean dish. There's a lot of beans packed in a small space but give it a shot. You might be a convert.

Somehow Webster left this definition out

Main Entry: love
Pronunciation: ləv
Function: noun

1 a (1): strong affection for another arising out of kinship or personal ties

1 b (2): standing in closer proximity to "Scary Beaver" (see Visual Aid #1 below) for 15 minutes because my child was enjoying herself at The Children's Museum

Visual Aid #1:
On a completely separate note, I went to my little brother's orchestra performance this week. I say "little" because he's in high school but physically, he towers over me. Which is weird since I used to change his diapers. (Sorry, Peter but I'm sure your friends don't read this mommy blog.)

Anyways, it's a small school so I knew some of the performances would be the middle school band and orchestra. You know, the "young" ones.

But I could have sworn every group included sixth graders. I honestly couldn't tell a difference between 13-year-olds and the 17-year-olds. (Except you, of course, Peter.)

Either I'm getting older or kids are getting younger. I think I know which one it is. Sad, sad.

Shhh, I wasn't here

I should not be on my blog. Should not, should not, should not. Madeline is napping and I have a press release to finalize STAT.

But like a moth to the flame, I was drawn to my Google reader and was reminded just how much I love my sister-in-law.

Yes, she is that funny in person, too.

And no, I was never here.

P.S. Are you all sooooo excited for tonight's Biggest Loser?? Vicky's revenge/meltdown. I'm so pumped.

You can call me "Katie Almighty"

Apparently my house is a beacon for animals who would enjoy some loving care. I am not building an ark but I am expecting the next critters to come in twos.

It started with Matilda.

Then on Saturday night, it was a dog. We'll call the dog "PB" for now.

When Joe drove up to our house, a stray dog bounded up to the car but kept her distance once he opened the door. Joe tried to call PB over to him to check for tags, but she just barked rather aggressively and wouldn't come close.

An hour later, we heard some noises on our porch. PB was back.

We could tell she had just had a litter but didn't have any tags. We tried to get her to come close but she always stayed 10 feet away and kept barking.

Now I love dogs and my family has quite the collection of stray-turned-family member dogs so I wanted to keep trying. But her bark was a scary bark, like "I might want to eat your hand," so we decided to ignore her in hopes she would try to find her home.

But she wouldn't leave. She curled up on our mat and was shaking so badly from the cold. I finally convinced Joe that we should give her a blanket since she clearly wasn't going to leave. Once I set the blanket out, she immediately ran up towards me (I thought she was charging me so I got scared and ran back inside) and curled up under the blanket.

Finally, we went to bed and Joe was searching the Internet for what type of dog she was. I was about to drift to sleep when he said, "Katie, it's a pit bull! She's a pit bull!"

OH MY WORD!

Now you may own a pit bull and say they're the most wonderful pets. Fine. Whatever. But this was a stray dog, clearly aggressive, and clearly hungry if not malnourished. Plus, I've never heard of a miniature dachshund or a golden retriever attacking toddlers.

I freaked out just a little and resisted the urge to check on Madeline even though I knew she was completely safe. Have I mentioned I'm sometimes overreact?

The next morning, PB the Pit Bull was still there, continuing to bark when we opened the door. We tried to call a rescue organization but couldn't reach anyone. We tried to shoo her away but she just wouldn't leave. Since we wanted to leave our house eventually, we finally called Animal Control and threw plates of oatmeal on our porch until they got here.

I still feel bad for her because Animal Control said they put dogs up for adoption only if they pass health tests and allow people to get near. Basically the future didn't seem bright for PB the Pit Bull with those criteria.

So in the words of Bob Barker, spay and neuter your pets. And take care of the ones you have so they don't end up on my porch. Unless it's a friendly boxer and then I definitely want to keep it.

In the meantime, I'll be watching for the next animal who comes. Any guesses what it will be?

If it wasn't already crystal clear...

... a little girl reigns in this house.

Please take note of the matching hair clip in her hair. "Detailed" is her middle name.

I'm pretty sure what follows can be classified as "ranting"

To date, I have not shared a certain deep, abiding love with all of you. This wasn't intentional; it's just never come up. But it's something I hold dear to my heart because a) I love it and b) it always means special time with Joe.

It's The Biggest Loser.

That's right. Every Tuesday night, we watch strangers exercise, sweat and lose weight while we create deeper indentations in the couch cushion. (Side note: I don't know what it is but watching the show always makes me want to eat. I'm confident this is not intended by the producers.)

But I'm breaking my silence because last night's episode pushed me over the edge in two categories:

1. Forced, awkward product placements
2. Vicky

Issue #1: forced, awkward product placements.

Um, NBC? After watching 3.2 minutes of The Biggest Loser, I get that you are sponsored by Extra gum, Subway and Jello. Trust me, I get it.

There's no need to have a contestant who used to subsist on Big Macs and slabs of ice cream to pop in a piece of gum and declare in delight, "Oh, this really hits the spot. This 5-calorie stick of gum really satisfies my sweet tooth."

(If you don't watch the show, please know I did not make up those lines. Someone actually said that verbatim.)

Now, I'll agree that the person was OK and even thrilled to forgo sweets because they are losing weight like crazy. But I'll give them credit for utilizing self-control for not devouring an entire batch of brownies and eating that stick of gum instead.

And I'm almost ready to throw in my couch-potato towel if I hear Subway's $5 foot-long song one more time.

Issue #2: Vicky.

Now, I'm promised myself to never speak poorly of someone on my blog. I don't want this to become a negative spot which was why I didn't mention some of the more interesting events from election day. (If you know me, ask me because I can dish out some good, non-fiction draaa-MA!) But I can't keep silent anymore.

I love this show because even though it's a TV game with some game-play, people really are there to become healthy and change their lives. However, Vicky is just plain mean.

If I was live-blogging the episode last night, it would have gone something like this:

• What?
• No, she didn't. No, she didn't!
• How can someone be so mean?
• Seriously. Bob! Speak up and tell her how mean she is!
  
• My palms are sweating. Could Brady really be gone tonight?!
• Please, oh, please, oh please, LEAVE!
• Did you all SEE that look on her face??
  

It would have been so educational for all of you.

I really don't want to resort to bad-mouthing someone on my blog. I really don't because this is intended to be a sweet spot to share my joys in motherhood. So I'll just say this:

Vicky is controlling, manipulative, mean, bossy, smug, mean, on the show for all the wrong reasons, tactless, mean a contestant on The Biggest Loser.

Don't worry; last night's episode didn't ruin the whole season for me. (Amy P. saw to that!) I will be tuning in next week, especially since the preview commercial promised: "You haven't seen Vicky lose control like this before!"

Ooooh, I'll be watching, NBC. With my Jello pudding cups, Subway $5 foot-long sub and pan of brownies a stick of Extra gum, I will be watching.

Election day recap, a million years later

Election day has come and gone. As Joe pointed out, this means the end of the political commercials and the start of the cheesy holiday jewelry ads.

Yay.

Eliminating all "He went to Jared's!" commercials is going to be top of my Santa list this year. Say it with me: "Yes, we can!"

Back to election day. This was my first year working the polls and I'm glad I did, though my stomach and thighs may not agree. If you ever want to volunteer, I highly recommend bringing lots of nutritious snacks, otherwise you might end up eating like this:

1. one Krispy Kreme doughnut
2. three dark chocolate Hershey nuggets
3. one apple
4. two mini Heath bars
5. one Chick-Fil-A chicken sandwich
6. 87 peanut M&M's
7. one large Mcdonald's sweet tea (my drug of choice)
   
8. then finally, Breakdown Enchiladas
9. one ginormous glob of gooey chocolate brownies
   

Add in exhaustion and the fear of losing your mental sanity and you might end up like me: sick with a head cold and napping 17 extra hours by the weekend. Let me take this opportunity to say I love my husband who takes care of me.

I also love Joe because he volunteered with me, even though unlike me, he did not dreamed of working the polls since he was a little boy.

Boggle and working the polls. Acts of love, people. Acts of love.

But I really really do recommend working the polls at least once. It was pretty amazing to watch democracy in action.

Like the man who arrived by 5:15 a.m., still didn't vote by 6:45 a.m., left for work and returned at 5:30 p.m. to cast his vote.

Or the woman whose eyesight was so bad, God bless her, she spoiled three ballots before getting it right. But her vote counts just as much as anybody else who got their ballot right the first time.

Or the 18-year-old girl who was so excited to vote for the first time but was incredibly nervous about messing it up. Which, I assured her, would be difficult to do after 4-ballot lady.

But I would like to share two things I learned last Tuesday:

1. It is possible to go to a college preparatory high school, graduate with an undergraduate degree in journalism, consider yourself a spelling fanatic, but by 9 a.m. on election day, begin questioning everything you thought you knew about the English alphabet. Like, if "S" maybe comes before "R" and "MY WORD, doesn't 'U' go after 'W'?!".
2. Make sure you have a really good handle on counting to 100. Repeatedly. It will happen so many times that your head might explode if it thinks, "67, 68, 69, 60 - shooooot!!!" one more time. Trust me, counting becomes easier said than done.

I'm just sayin'.

Because I love embarassing myself even more on the Internet

Thanks for waiting so patiently. I loved reading your responses and why you picked your guesses.

We have a tie for the winner - Jen and Heather got three out of four correct! You both have my upmost respect for knowing me as the dunderhead I am.

Here are the answers:

1. Seeing air - true. When I wrote this one, I thought most would probably guess it was true because it contained so much detail. Uh, nope. Nearly all of you chose it because you know I have my airhead moments. Love you all.
2. Speeding but never caught - false. Yes, I speed and yes, I've been pulled over. Once. Completely lost in a rainstorm in farmland Indiana. Trying to get home in time so my parents didn't leave the house to search the highway. (Yes, they were known to do that before we had cell phones.) However, I didn't get a ticket because I sobbed and blubbered about how I didn't know where I was and that my parents were probably searching the muddy ditches of I-69. The officer took pity, got in his cruiser and led me back to the highway.
3. Phase about never wanting to have kids - false. I've always wanted to be a mom. Always, always, always.
4. Judge Judy - true. During my senior year in college, I had an internship at a hospital 40 minutes away. I always left at 4 p.m. I've been addicted to Judge Judy on the radio ever since. I apologize, Kristen. Can we still be friends?
   
5. The Bachelor and The Bachelorette - false. I've never watched one minute of either show. However, I'm easily addicted to reality shows so I'm sure if I ever watched it, I would love it. So really, my dignity is still not intact.
   
6. Dish fanatic - true. I really love dishes. I will go out of my way at the mall just to see what's new at Crate and Barrel. However, I only own two sets because it is more than plenty for a family of three, especially when one only uses a high chair tray and drinks out of a sippy cup.
7. Veterinarian - false. What else can I say? This never happened. My fear of rodents stems from an episode of Lassie.
8. Running - true. I love that no one guessed this. And really, that's a testament to how well you know me that you didn't choose it. Because this desire has NEVER occurred before. But I'm proud to say I've actually run several more times since last week and I'm still enjoying it. Crazy, I know!
   

Someone told me today is Wednesday but I don't believe them

I feel like it's only been two days since Halloween. Apparently, I'm wrong. I have enough to share that I really should write three posts but you'll just get a big 'ol long one instead.

Halloween was terrific. Madeline was a 1950's girl, complete with a super cute handmade poodle skirt, thanks to Janna.
I wanted to never take it off of her. Isn't she cute?!

Friday started by going to a Halloween party thrown by my BFF from eighth grade, Jaime. We were tight and had the most creative nicknames for our crushes. I won't reveal hers but it may or may not have been a name of a soap. I'm stop talking now...

Anyways, she invited us to a party at her in-laws barn. Naturally, I was expecting it to be a barn and almost didn't dress Madeline in her felt poodle skirt in case it got ruined in dirt, mud and hay.

Instead, we showed up to the most amazing party pavilion. Half of the building was a true barn, complete with an antique car, tractors and hay bales.

The other half was this:

Yeah, I'm glad I put Madeline in her costume.. There were over 80 people there! I just wish Madeline was older so she could remember it. It was amazing. z

We went with another friend Jenn and her son Blake. Needless to say, he is adorable. Especially in that chef's hat.

And then it was Halloween night. We visited several family members before ending at my parents' house to meet up with my brother's family which includes the cutest nephew ever.

Don't you think this picture pretty much sums up Halloween in the eyes of children?

Madeline was slightly envious of Brennan's sugar mountain. But don't worry, she had one of her own.

It feels counter-productive to breastfeed for nine months, steam and puree all of your child's food because you don't want them to eat jarred baby food and then watch them devour gobs of black icing. Maybe I'm being sensitive.

Yeah, they love each other and that makes me happy.

Then came Saturday night which means my family's annual Halloween party. The theme was Election '08. To sum it up, we really really really love Halloween. If you need proof, check out the pictures on my sister Jenny's blog.

My favorite costumes were George Washington rolling in his grave over this election and Cindy McCain the day after the election who went around in a crazy blonde wig saying, "Good morning! Good evening! What state are we in? When can I go home? Can I have a drink?"

I love my family.

OK, I was going to post the answers to Friday puzzle and talk about working the polls yesterday (the main reason why I've been MIA and boy do I have stories!) but I'm afraid you'll just have to wait. A friend is picking Madeline and me up in 15 minutes and I'm still in my PJ's.

You all should feel loved.

A post for my parents

I love blogging because I have an outlet to share my heart without bombarding my husband when he comes home. He probably loves my blogging too for that reason.

And I love writing posts like this, ones that express just how much I love being a mom.

After reading it, my mom told me that post made her proud of me and the decisions I've made. Which pretty much made my day week year.

And I started crying in the car. I don't think I've done that since Madeline was six weeks old and I heard "Jesus Take the Wheel" for the first time since having her. I heard the line, "baby in my backseat," and I thought, "OH MY WORD I HAVE A BABY IN MY BACKSEAT" and couldn't stop bawling.

I never got the baby blues but I think crying over Carrie Underwood counts as "emotionally unstable."

Anyways.

I cried because when I wrote that post, I didn't think about motherhood from the flip side. From my mom's perspective.

I want to put time and effort into raising Madeline just like the builders of the great cathedrals: for the glory of God. I know Madeline will make me proud to be her mother and so I press on.

But I didn't think that when my mom read the post, I might make her proud. I forgot. I'm my mom's Westminster Abbey.

My mom is wonderful. You know this is you've met her. She stayed home for 18 years raising my brothers and me and didn't go back until my youngest brother was in first grade. She was a mom who made us want to go back home because we loved our home. She loved on us and never once have I doubted it. She did everything good moms do and more.

For the record, my dad is wonderful, too. You know this is you've met him. He worked hard so my mom could stay home. So we could have excellent schooling. So we could all go to college. He ignited my love for reading by reading "Anne of Green Gables" and "A Little Princess" out loud to me before bedtime. He loved on us and never once have I doubted it. He did everything good dads do and more.

I am who I am because of my parents' sacrifices (emotional and financial) to put their kids before their needs. For the glory of God. They carved intricate birds into the wooden beams of my life, efforts no one else but God could see. Because they knew it was worth the effort.

I'm not saying I grew up into a perfect person. Far, far from it. I know I've disappointed and hurt them and others. I know I've screwed up more times than forgiveness should be extended.

But they introduced redemption, grace and love to me. They introduced me to the maker of these things: Jesus. And because of that, I love. And love is the only thing capable of making a difference in this world.

So while I'm encouraged to press on building my cathedral with Madeline, I don't want to forget about myself: a cathedral still in progress, still capable of making my parents proud.

I hope I do because I'm proud to be their daughter.